


How Grendel Stormed Heorot

by Liara_90



Category: Beowulf - All Media Types, DR. SEUSS - Works
Genre: Artistic License, Bad Poetry, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical for Beowulf not Seuss mind you, Dismemberment, Gen, One Shot, Poetry, Rhyming, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-01
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2019-03-25 08:51:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13830705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liara_90/pseuds/Liara_90
Summary: Every DaneDown in HeorotLiked Hrothgar a lotBut GrendelWho lived just north of HeorotDid NOT!





	How Grendel Stormed Heorot

**Author's Note:**

> Best read aloud
> 
> and with sincere apologies to the memory of Theodor Geisel.

Every Dane  
Down in Heorot  
Liked Hrothgar a lot  


But Grendel  
Who lived just north of Heorot  
Did NOT!  


Grendel _hated_ Heorot! The whole Danish people!  
He hated those men who lived up on that steep hill.  
It _could_ be his head wasn’t screwed on just right.  
It _could_ be, perhaps, he just loved a good fight.  
But I think that the most likely reason of all  
May have been that his soul had been damned in the Fall.

  
_But,_  
Whatever the reason  
He hunted the thanes,  
He stood there on Easter morn, damning the Danes.  
Glaring at them from his swamp, with an evil frown  
At the warm-lighted windows below in their town.  
For he knew every Dane down in Heorot below,  
Was quite busy now, getting sloshed in the snow.  


“And they’re guzzling their mead!” he growled with a glare.  
“Tomorrow I’ll kill them. With villainous flair!”  
He paused to avow in the morning air, seething:  
“I WILL find a way to stop Hrothgar from breathing!”  


For,  
Tonight, he knew…  


...All the Dane boys and men  
Would drink and eat. They’d call for more mead!  
And _then_! Oh, the skalds! Oh, the skalds! Skalds! Skalds! Skalds!  
That’s _one_ thing he hated! The SKALDS! SKALDS! SKALDS! SKALDS!  


Then the Danes, young and old, would sit down to a feast,  
And they’d feast! _And they’d feast!_  
And they’d! FEAST!  
FEAST!  
FEAST!  
FEAST!  
They would feast on warm pork from a succulent beast  
Which was something Grendel couldn’t stand in the least!  


And THEN  
They’d do something  
He liked least of all!  
Every Dane down in Heorot, the young and the small,  
Would sit close together, with full flagons _clinking_.  
They’d strike up a tune. And the Danes would start singing!  


They’d call for a new song!  
A new SONG! SONG! SONG! SONG!  
And the more Grendel thought of this Dane-mead hall-song,  
The more Grendel thought, “Killing them isn’t wrong!  
“Why, for twelve or so years they’ve been pretty good chow  
“I MUST stop this bardic sing-a-long!  
...But _HOW?_ ”  


Then he got an idea!  
_An awful idea!_  
GRENDEL  
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!  


“I know _just_ what to do!” Grendel said with a grin.  
And he sharpened his teeth so they’d tear human skin.  
And he howled, and hooted, “Oh how I _so_ am Cain’s son!  
By the end of this night all the Danes will be done!”  


THEN  
He chewed some old bones  
Made his hide hard as stones.  
On that dark moonless night  
He set out for a fight.  


For Grendel cried, “ _Death!_ ”  
And ran for Heorot  
Towards the hall where the Danes  
Were in quite a bad spot.  


See their windows were dark. Drunk snores filled the air.  
All the Danes were all dreaming of hoards without care.  
When he came to the grand mead hall in the square.  
“This is where the Danes die,” that mean Grendel thought.  


And he strolled to the hall, with its looming onslaught.  


And then he smashed down the door. A rather quick task.  
If Ingjald could do it, was it so much to ask?  
He paused just a second, to take in the scene  
Of a dozen plus men, from old gramps to a teen.  
And he saw Hondscio, asleep near his feet  
“Your face,” Grendel grinned, “will make _excellent_ meat!”  


Then he slaughtered and slew, with a smile most unpleasant,  
Around the whole room, he slew every peasant!  
Soldiers! And sailors! Bannerman! Guards!  
Diplomats! Merchants! Blacksmiths! And bards!  
And he chewed them all up. Then Grendel, very neatly,  
Tore off Froda’s leg to get to the meaty  


Then he ate some raw arm. He made the Danes cry!  
He took Ælfhere’s heart! He plucked out an eye!  
He cleaned out that mead hall as quick as a flash.  
Why that troll even found a few kid skulls to bash!  


So he killed all the Danes he could find in the bar.  
“And NOW!” Grendel grinned, “I will slay old Hrothgar!”  


And the troll grabbed the King, all that stringy old meat  
When he saw a tall man from the race they called “Geat”.  
He barred bloody teeth, and he saw _Beowulf!_  
Great _Beowulf_ , who was fierce like a wolf!  


Grendel had been tracked by this tall Geatish foe  
Who had sailed from Geatland to cause the troll woe.  
Here stood a tall warrior, whom monsters abhorred  
He stared Grendel down, lacking even a sword!  


But you know that old Grendel was no shrinking violet,  
He now planned to add Geatish meat to his diet!  
So he snarled and he growled, as mean ogres do  
And he schemed how to make this bold Geat bloody goo.  
Then he charged Beowulf, with a roar and a hiss  
And his teeth got so close, they could practically _kiss_.  


But then Grendel was caught in an inhuman grip  
Caught in Beowulf’s _fingers_ , which he’d never slip!  
Then they wrestled for hours, on the Wealhþēow’s floor  
Until Grendel was eyeing his route to the door!  


Then the Geat took something  
He took Grendel’s right arm!  
And this was when Grendel felt real alarm  
For though he was son of Cain, this Geat fool caused him _harm!_  


And though try as he might  
He could not get it back  
And the Danes would soon mount it, up high on a rack.  


THEN  
On that moonless night  
The poor troll howled his pains  
Trailing blood  
Out the hall  
He damned Geats and those Danes!  


It was quarter past dawn…  
All the Danes, still a-sleep,  
(All those Danes _not_ his meat)  
When he limped out of town.  
Dropping bits of his flesh all the way to his marsh  
He wondered, perhaps, ‘why’d that Geat been so harsh’?  


Three dozen leagues under, in that mere of terror  
He rested his body and pondered his error.  
His mother came quickly, to tend to his arm,  
And Grendel regretted he’d caused her alarm.  
His last breath came quickly, just once more he sighed.  
His mother found she was alone, so she cried.  


And deep in that marsh, so disarmed, that monstrous troll died.  


**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first attempt at poetry. Feedback, positive or constructive, is _extremely_ encouraged. I don’t really have a strong grasp of rhythm or metre, certainly not on a technical level. I mostly took my library copy of _[How the Grinch Stole Christmas!](http://web.mit.edu/tere/www/text/grinch.txt)_ and imitated it line-by-line. I initially tried to match it syllable-for-syllable, but I made a few adjustments for what sounded to flow better in my ear. Maybe for better, maybe worse. Turns out this poetry stuff is serious business. Given how much I enjoy obsessing over word choice, _that_ part wasn’t exactly alien to me. Everything else was…. Harder….
> 
> Also, it’s been a while since I’ve read _Beowulf_ , so please be gentle on my sub-Tolkien understanding of the epic. Though if I’m being honest, this was more inspired by [John Gardner’s _Grendel_](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grendel_\(novel\)). Obviously I took a few literary licenses, combining scenes and whatnot. I’ll readily concede that my pronunciation of a few words (namely “Heorot”) may be off, but I did my best due diligence. Also, feel free to harangue me for the terrible rhyming of “wolf” and “Beowulf”. That was bad and I feel bad.
> 
> As always, a single comment can brighten my entire day. Also feel free to contact me on Tumblr ([pvoberstein](http://www.pvoberstein.tumblr.com/)) or reddit ([u/pvoberstein](https://www.reddit.com/user/pvoberstein/)).


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